My Dearest Gramma Addie,
There are a lot of things in this world you don’t like. Candy, your curly hair, loud noises, balloons, loud laughter, the neighbor boy claiming he’s a vampire, spaghetti squash and Greek food to name a few. While you’ll try anything once (mostly because I force you to) it’s very rare that you’ll actually take to it, be it sheer force of will (which as my daughter I’m not surprised, the stubborn is strong in us.) or the fact that you are just that hard to please.
Take for example your first trip ice skating this past Saturday. Your dad and I were ready for you to try once, throw a little fit, maybe force you around the rink once and demand to leave within 20 minutes. Expectations on our end? Low. An hour and a half and at least a dozen trips around the rink later? You bet I left with a flyer on ice skating lessons. You were so happy out there, I’m not sure how much the actual skating had to do with it. You had your dad’s undivided attention as he held you up by the scruff of your neck so you didn’t crack your head open. You also had my undivided attention as I froze from the sidelines. Amazed that your tiny little body that was inside me at one time was skating around the rink so fast your scruff holding father could barely keep up with you.
I’ve been thinking a lot about how much is going to change over the next month. You’re no longer going to be an only. Or a one. You’re going to be part of a pair. I’ve watched you over the last eight months grow into a big sister. Today at church you washed your hands and then offered your paper towel to a little girl who couldn’t reach. Last week you climbed into Miss Ami’s car to help Eden get buckled. And while we were in Chicago? You played peek a boo from the back seat with baby Viola until she was nearly gasping between giggles. I wish I could tell you how it feels to watch you grow up, and yet want so badly to keep you my little girl forever. The little girl that I have spent nearly every day of the last seven years with.
It’s pride and warmth and heartache all at once.
This morning I snuggled your little warm pajama covered body and buried my face in your curls. I wish I could hold onto you forever. Perfectly innocent, smelling of syrup and cookies. I’ve debated every morning for the last week if I should really take you to school because every time you get off the bus you come home to me older, and there’s only so many hours left before we three are four. You’re growing up. And in the next month you’re going to be doing a lot more growing up.
Some of it is going to be hard. A lot of it is going to be magical.
But I want you to know right now, in this very moment. Your are my baby girl, you always have been and always will be.
You are my heart.